


We're Going No Where

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angry John, Angry Sam, Bottom Dean, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Omega Dean, POV Sam, Possessive Sam Winchester, Protective Sam, Scared Sam, Timestamp, Top Sam, Violence, Young Dean, Young Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His dad lays a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Alpha tenses in response, Sam choking down a growl.</p>
<p>In which Sam and John have a conversation.</p>
<p>Timestamp, Sam POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Going No Where

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Empire (Let Em Sing) by Bring Me The Horizon.

“It’s fucking freezing out here, Dean.”

Sam tucks chilled fingers into his armpits, stomping booted feet into the tightly packed snow above ground. It’s 15 degrees outside, and the news had reported that it was steadily dropping. Sam snorts into his muffler, millisecond of warmth from his mouth. The high was 28, today. They’d never even made it close.

Dean narrows his eyes in his direction, stern-lined mouth at war with the mischievous twinkle in brittle green eyes.

“Sammy, pay attention boy.” Sam snaps his neck back to the front, conditioned response.

John Winchester strides next to his youngest, hands dug deep into fur lined pockets. He tips his head up, breathes in deeply and Sam shudders, can’t imagine opening himself up for that amount of frigidity, letting it fester in his body and consume.

“Dean tells me he’s had you practicing with the Mag, while I was gone?” Sam bristles a little, Alpha poking his head out to sniff in annoyance. “Yeah.” Dean coughs, slight thing, and Alpha’s hackles raise further. “Yes, sir.”

John nods smartly,”How’s that recoil treating you?” Sam steps closer to his father, rolling out his stiff shoulders and cracking his neck. “Kinda rough, but I’ll get the hang of it.” Sam stiffens his legs, braces himself preemptively, and he can see Dean rolling his eyes in his peripheral.

Pretty lips red and cold, bitten where Dean’s gnawing on them to prevent chaffing. His brother’s got snowflakes dancing in his long lashes, and Sam can hear his low curse as he swipes at his eyes for the umpteenth time. Alpha whines, too cold to fully come forth, waves of cinnamon hinting the air.

“Show me.” Sam steps forward, reaches out his hand to wrap around the metal. He’s taken his gloves off and the chill is instantaneous, his joints lock up and a warm stripe of air is released, through gritted teeth. Dean’s next to him, suddenly, boots barely making an indention in the snow. There are tiny flakes raining down, heavier than before, and they’re pooling up on Dean’s hair.

Sam falters, hand holding the gun flopping limply to his side, barrel clipping him on the way down. This is different.

This is not like anything else that has come before.

Dean knocks Sam roughly with his shoulder. “Sammy, get your head outta your ass, Dad’s waitin’.”

Says the words with false sharpness, eyes passing over Sam’s body, mentally inquiring if he’s okay. Sam nods jerkily, re-establishes his stance and brings his arms up to shoulder level. The snow is falling thickly now, and Sam has to compensate by blinking more often. His dad lays a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Alpha tenses in response, Sam choking down a growl.

His dad huffs lightly, amused at little Alpha dominance. “Center tree, right where that groove is. Little to Dean’s left.” Sam adjusts accordingly, his father’s hand sliding away from his body. Dean can shoot with one hand, all precision and arrogance, emerald twinkles and flair.

His brother leans away, body stiff as he watches Sam. Scared Sam’ll miss, and that’ll make things that much worse, Dad will assume they haven’t been practicing, been spending this Milwaukee winter jerking off and watching too much tv. Sam fires, three times in a row, locking his legs so tight they feel like they’ll splinter, violence funneled.

Wood shavings trickle to the ground, real quietly, and it’s perfect. Barely a disruption in the rest of the bark, shot’s so clean.

Sam can’t help it, grin splitting his countenance in two, fifteen years old, glances up at his father’s face. John’s eyes are warm, crows feet, half smile barely playing at his mouth. “That’s good, Sammy.” Alpha is too caught up in his own prowess to protest the nickname, and Sam lets out a whoop.

John turns away, leans down to rub at his bad knee. “You run your laps this morning?” This last is to Dean, and Sam stands there, expectantly silent, picks at the skin encircling the weapon. “Yessir. Five miles.” Dean’s mouth twitches and shoves Sam into a headlock.

“Sammy beat me, full thirty seconds.” Sam’s body tightens up, shock value, same as it was with the Mag, and Alpha’s no longer docile. Sam’s incisors extract without a second thought, and a series of ripples pass through his body. He jerks his head from under Dean’s grip and backs up, leaving his scarf behind, in Dean’s palm.

His brother’s hands are fight-strained against his thighs, Sam’s checkered scarf clutched in gloved fingers. Sam’s heart is racing and he knows his brother can feel it, looks at him quizzically, muted scent drifting through his nostrils. Sam can smell his own fright, oily and thick, rotten bananas. Sam could’ve killed Dean, shifting that close to him.

Cause that’s exactly what his body wanted, a full shift, splintering limbs to make way for his wolf, a beast that’s bigger than Dean’s, now. Finally.

John turns to face his boys, and from the look on his face, he’s been calling for them repeatedly. “C’mon, boys I’m not dealing with you two gettin’ sick cause you didn’t come in on time. Let’s go.” Sam backs up, unspoken standing agreement between he and his Dad to let Dean travel in the middle, watch out for him.

Pisses Dean off to no end, he curses colorfully every time they do it, but he’s aware that it’s not so much for his sake as it is to assuage Alpha dominance. Dean’ll murder everyone in his path, if need be. He’s close-lipped, this time, as he takes his place in the center, pushes Sam’s scarf into his hands as he passes. Sam stuffs it in his pocket, keeps his eyes facing the ground.

John’s got two Sierra Nevadas out as soon as they step inside, practically, grasped by the necks, made even colder by the frigid air seeping in from the open door. Sam kicks it closed behind him and immediately sets about stripping, three layers of thermals and long-johns, two more scarves he doesn’t know what to do with.

Can hear the gentle thumps of Dean’s clothes hitting the floor near his, and his brother glances up at their father as John thrusts a beer in his direction. “One, Dean. Don’t want to run out before I go to the store tomorrow.” Dean accepts it gratefully, slams the lid on the edge of the counter with a resounding thwack, presses icy glass to his lips to slurp noisily at the rising foam.

Sam leans against the counter for support, jeans tight.

“What was that about back there?” Dean jerks his thumb in the direction of the outdoors, pushes foam off of his upper lip with his thumb and licks the excess away.

Sam hates his brother.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Dean. I hate when you do that shit.” Sam doesn’t mind it, not really, in fact, he’d like a lot more of it. Problem is, Sam hasn’t been a separate entity in about a year now, and it’s Alpha with whom he makes daily decisions.

And Alpha makes everything concern Dean.

Sam keeps his distance, can’t control his wolf well enough to allow the lust to seep through, collect on Dean’s body and permeate. The issue is, that something has changed, now, like an audible shift and a lock has clicked soundly into place.

Dean smirks, pushes away from the table and brushes past Sam. “I got it. Little Alpha doesn’t wanna play, anymore.”

Dean’s shirt is a bit damp from all the snow that snuck in, despite his layers, and he shivers briefly as he reaches skyward to open a cabinet, struggle for his shirt to move alongside muscle, slight beneath the wiry Omega frame. Sam’s across the room in a blur, wolf-heightened reflexes, and he clamps one hand on his brother’s neck, guttural violence.

He’s an inch shorter than his brother, but he makes do, forcing Dean’s neck down so that his nose brushes against the smooth countertop, creamy color merging with Dean’s skin. “Let me the fuck go, Sam!” Voice is a lot enraged, a little perturbed, and Sam’s fingers tighten, against his will. He presses the entire front of his body against his brother’s backside, registers that his cock is twitching in his underwear.

He chokes out a snarl, chest heaving spasmodically. “Don’t call me that, Dean.”

“Let him go, Sammy.” The words are laced in Alpha-command, and Sam’s younger, less attuned, and his hands slip from the nape of Dean’s neck gracelessly, smacking against the counter with gravity. Dean snakes himself out from underneath his brother, Sam’s shoulder ricocheting as Dean slams into it, silent curse. He stalks from the kitchen, beer forgotten.

Sam’s left with the lingering scent of fury, desert sand and windstorm, and he braces his body against the adjoining wall, allows Alpha to retreat.

“You need to watch yourself, Sam.” Sam’s eyes jerk upright, takes in his father’s defensive stance, surprisingly warm eyes. “I didn’t--I’m not trying to _hurt_ him--” John’s shaking his head, knuckles snow-white around his beer. “Not him, Sammy. Me and you, we gotta lock this up. Stop this from happening.”

Sam’s confused, pushes himself up so that he’s standing fully on the balls of his feet. “Fucking what from happening? Dad?” His father is turning, fight leached from his skin, puddling around his feet like so much spinal fluid.

Sam’s left alone, sound of his heartbeat suffocating his own ears, and he touches his mouth, surprised when his fingers come away wet. Impaled by his own incisors.

He presses his eyes into the palm of his hands, forces himself to take five deep breaths, locks Alpha in the sturdiest cage he can construct.

Alpha always knew, long before Sam would ever understand.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
